


some racing, some stopping

by malfaisant



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 19:11:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4316424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malfaisant/pseuds/malfaisant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conversations from 1806 to 1812, spoken and unspoken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. things you said when we were on top of the world

**Author's Note:**

> based on [these prompts](http://maximusboltagon.tumblr.com/post/115678695093/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a) (#21, #15, #3, #5, #20, #12, #16). for kiransingh, you jerk.
> 
> spoilers up to _Blood of Tyrants_.

He had ridden dragons before, but nothing greater than mid-sized couriers, and only for short sprints, commissioned as a temporary guide for aviators ferrying orders in Madras or Calcutta. Despite that he knew it hardly made much difference hundreds of feet up in the air whether he was on a dragon just larger than a horse or on a heavyweight like Temeraire, the experience of it was yet foreign enough that even he could not entirely mask his wonder.

Or perhaps, it was more the sights that captured his fascination, the novelty of seeing familiar places from a wholly new vantage point. From above, Xi’an appeared as a chessboard, the old capital structured as a well-ordered grid, multicolored lanterns illuminating each square, with tall imposing walls to frame the entirety. Wuwei was a city of crossroads, paths tangled like a web, thin filaments reaching out north to Yinchuan, east to Lanzhou, or to the west, to Xining and the desert beyond. Dunhuang, a great oasis curved on the banks of a crescent-shaped lake, was a shock of verdant colour against the dull brown of the endless dunes.

One morning, when Temeraire and Laurence had taken Tharkay aloft to survey ahead of their party, he saw before him the wide expanse of the Taklamakan, stretching for miles and miles until the sands met the foot of the Tian Shan. A shimmering haze outlined the distant horizon, so that the deep blue of the skies and the mountains seemed nearly to float above the desert—a clear demarcation of where the earth ended and the heavens began.

“Mr. Tharkay, are you alright?” a voice asked behind him, and a hand on his shoulder gently brought him out of his reverie. He turned to Laurence, who beheld him with an expression of curiosity and concern, realising only lately that he’d been quiet, moreso than his usual, enough that the aviator had taken note.

Tharkay gave a brief nod. “Yes, Captain. I have just—” he paused, in some effort to find the words. “I have never seen the Taklamakan from the sky before.”

Laurence considered the desert before them, and the far-flung mountains. “Yes, it is quite a sight.”

Tharkay paused, then said, “I suppose such views are commonplace for you, with all the time you spend on dragonback.”

“On the contrary,” Laurence replied, his voice low and contemplative, “I do not think I have ever seen such a beautiful, yet desolate place—as though loneliness itself had taken form. The only place I would say could compare,” he continued, “is the open ocean,” and Tharkay did not think he imagined it, the note of wistfulness in his voice.


	2. things you said with too many miles between us

In a considerable history of bad ideas, this was undoubtedly his worst. Tharkay had found the feral dragons in the hills not far past Istanbul, lingering in the hopes that they might have another chance at the Turkish herds. It was simple enough to persuade Arkady and his band to come with him, what with the memory of their recent feast so fresh and vivid on their minds; flying them across two continents of hostile territory in the midst of wartime was another story, and after losing Temeraire’s trail over Jena, after yet another a harried escape from a French company, a dozen times over he’d considered abandoning the endeavour altogether.

(Except, then he would have no excuse at all, to see him again.)

Tharkay would say that he did not know what compelled him to it, only that was a barefaced lie. He knew exactly why, well enough that he knew he shouldn’t, _mustn’t_ put a name to it, if simply to preserve some pretense. If he refused to admit it, he thought, in an impressive manoeuvre of sophistry, there was perhaps hope for him yet.

It was the thirteenth of November, and felt every inch of it, the air heavy with the promise of the encroaching winter. Frost was already hard upon the ground, but he’d managed to find shelter large enough for their company, and if a little cramped at least twenty dragons served as effective buffer against the cold. He settled near the cave mouth for first watch, after the ferals had finally quieted and fallen asleep. The silence that followed felt eerily hollow, owing to the cacophony that so lately preceded it, that Tharkay found himself speaking aloud to no one, his voice echoing against the walls of the cave, “I wonder what you would think, if you knew why.”

Arkady propped up sleepily beside him and tilted his head curiously, uncomprehending of his words, spoken as they were in English. “Who are you speaking to, Tharkay?”

“Nothing,” he replied, “I was speaking only to myself. Pray, go back to sleep.”

“How odd, you humans are,” said Arkady wisely, before resting his head back on his foreleg, returning to dreams of cows and treasure.


	3. things you said too quietly

Laurence stood at the ridge of a small hill, gazing out into the distance, to a drab grey sky thick with clouds, obscuring the late afternoon sun. He was much removed from the man Tharkay had said his farewells to in Edinburgh, though it had only been some manner of months—in that short span, Laurence seemed to have aged years: his face more gaunt and deeply lined, his eyes dark, his shoulders slumped with a palpable heaviness, some invisible weight bearing down upon him—a man barely held together by frayed threads, nearly coming apart at the seams.

At that moment, as he regarded Laurence’s hollow expression of melancholy and guilt-ridden longing, Tharkay found that there were a great many things he wished to say, only none of them found purchase in his mouth. When he eventually spoke, his words managed to convey some of their original sentiment, albeit greatly tempered; even now there were still things he would not dare say aloud.

He said, “I might never have found you.” _If only you would let me take you from this place._

He said, “My idea of duty is not yours.” _You do not owe them your life. You do not owe them anything._

He said, “You are a traitor,” and his calm tone belied the harshly honest words, enough that Laurence would surely never discern the ones hidden just underneath their surface. _You selfish bastard._

Laurence did not respond, though Tharkay saw the impact of his spoken words clearly writ upon his expression, equal parts distress and resignation. He considered what else he had to say, but dismissed them all, and only put a hand on Laurence’s shoulder, to pull him away from the edge, making quiet note of the oncoming dark.

_Would you force me, and all else who have ever loved you, to suffer losing you?_


	4. things you didn’t say at all (v.1)

The _Allegiance_ bobbed lazily in the water, dwarfing every other ship in the bay. Tharkay had never found much appeal in travelling by sea; given the choice, he'd rather have the shifting sands beneath his feet than the unpredictable to and fro of the waves. Undoubtedly that comfort was a simple product of familiarity—the desert was its own brand of treachery, the howling winds and scorching sands as temperamental as any ocean. But the years of travelling its roads have made the desert...not a friend, as the desert was no one's friend, but he knew its worst vagaries, the extremis of its moods and fancies, and it was with not a little arrogant pride that he trusted his own two feet to get him to his destination, more than he did any ship.

Of course, to a sailor, the reverse should be the truth: Laurence leaned against the railing of the ship, regarding the calm waters, and despite the _Allegiance_ being his prison, he was more at ease than Tharkay had ever seen him, looking as free as in any moment he was flying on Temeraire’s back. The ocean was his first home, Tharkay knew, as much as the desert was for himself.

But then he noticed Tharkay, and his more characteristic stiffness settled in, more greatly pronounced in the face of his unexpected company; a tenseness about his shoulders broadcasting his awkwardness, obviously owed to the inauspicious nature of their last meeting. Yet to his surprise, Laurence was the first to speak.

“I am glad to see you again, before we go,” he said, and Tharkay imagined he would almost be fidgeting in place if not for his military discipline, but the words rang clear with unspoken gratitude. It was a relief, to see Laurence already so much recovered, nothing like the hollowed-out wraith of recent memory.

“You need not bid me farewell just yet,” Tharkay replied with practiced equanimity. “I am coming. Captain Riley has been good enough to invite me as his guest.”

Some amalgam of astonishment and confusion crossed Laurence’s face. Despite himself, a part of Tharkay regarded Laurence’s obvious curiosity warring with his sense of propriety urging him not to pry with fond amusement. “I did not know you knew him,” he finally said.

“I did not, but Captain Harcourt was good enough to introduce me. I am tolerably well in pocket, at present, thanks to your admiral’s generosity,” he answered. Tharkay turned away to lean against the railing beside Laurence, and looked up at the sails being unfurled above them. A voyage of six months or more with nothing but the open ocean ahead of them, and already he could feel himself growing restless.

“And I have never been to Terra Australis,” he added, with a sideways glance at Laurence’s expression. “The journey tempts me.”

Tharkay was not accustomed to being a bad liar, but if this was a lie, it was only a lie of omission. In any case, it was as much as he could bring himself to say, though despite it all he almost wished he would be seen through regardless.

So it was with equal parts relief and disappointment that he received Laurence’s reply. “Then I am glad we shall be shipmates," he said, but the great sincerity of his words and the kind, open smile he gave Tharkay was consolation enough. With his fair hair and eyes brighter than they’d been in months, against the backdrop of the sea and open skies, Laurence looked almost radiant. Tharkay allowed himself a small smile in return, and thought himself content. He did not need to say anything else, ask for any more, because this would suffice. It more than sufficed, for now.

(If it was a lie, it was only a white lie, and himself the only recipient of it.)


	5. things you didn’t say at all (v.2)

Laurence was not surprised to see Tharkay late that afternoon, the day after the _Allegiance_ had sailed out of Sydney with Granby and Iskierka onboard. He was sitting with Temeraire on the covert grounds, when he saw Tharkay coming up the hill. Beside him, Temeraire’s head pricked up expectantly at his approach, but Laurence only noted a sinking feeling in his stomach. He stood up to shake Tharkay’s hand, and forced a smile.

“I have come to take my leave,” Tharkay opened, and informed them that he had been granted passage aboard the _Miniver_ to Bombay, after which he would then make his own way to Istanbul. With his usual wry expression, he said, “Much of my intelligence may be a little old by the time I have got there, but I have promised to deliver it.”

Temeraire pawed at the ground in some dismay, his ruff drooping down against his neck, in a reflection of Laurence’s own despondency. Indeed, Temeraire ended up giving voice to some of Laurence’s thoughts, asking hopefully if there was any chance Tharkay might return soon, after having delivered his news to Istanbul.

But unlike Temeraire, Laurence knew that this could only be unlikely. “I think we must expect to regret you a longer time. There can be very little to call you back to this part of the world anytime soon,” he said, in a quiet voice, as close as he could come to asking the question aloud.

Tharkay was silent for a moment, looking down at the ground. It would be quite an understatement to say that Laurence often found him difficult to read, his thoughts usually opaque behind his nearly imperturbable composure. But it spoke to how much their relationship—their friendship—had grown since the time they first met in Macao, that Laurence could now better identify when Tharkay’s typical nonchalance was entirely sincere and when it was, to a degree, merely affected.

Tharkay’s dark eyes darted back up to look into his, and Laurence found that he knew what he would say before he had spoken. “We spoke some time ago of endeavors which might call you away from it, however. I would have opportunity to make inquiries, if you have decided.”

It was Laurence’s turn to look away, and hope his disquiet did not seem as obvious as it felt. He had already made his decision, but there was yet a lingering reluctance he could not explain—he could not dislodge the sensation that he was saying no to something much greater than just the prospect of privateering.

“No; thank you, Tenzing,” he finally managed, “I cannot see my way to it. I am very grateful—” but the apology was cut off as Tharkay waved his hand dismissively.

“Then I will hope some other occupation finds you. You do not seem likely to me to lie idle,” he said easily, and changed the subject to means of how they should write him, if they wished. As they made arrangements for dinner the next afternoon, it was with profound, yet oddly calm surprise that Laurence realised the source of all his discomfiture: he simply did not yet want to say his goodbyes.

It was an unreasonable request, one that Laurence did not seriously entertain expressing. He managed lively enough conversation over their last meal, the easiness of their company too well-ingrained, even as the hour grew late and the sense of urgency welled within him. It was some odd, selfish compulsion, but one he could not deny, that a part of him wanted to ask Tharkay to stay, for no reason other than that Laurence wished he would.

Perhaps it were just as well that their farewells were cut short by the crack of musket-fire, or else he might not have resisted in indulging the question after all.

“I will not keep you. You should go to Temeraire, and quickly,” Tharkay said, as the familiar noises of rebellion sounded outside.

“You need not look so dispirited, Will,” he added kindly, on seeing Laurence’s expression. He gave a small smile, but Laurence thought he did not imagine the hint of ruefulness in the set of his mouth. “As I’ve said previous: the world is no longer so large a place, and its roads not as numerous as they seem. We will meet again,” Tharkay said, holding out his hand.

“Then I wish you a safe voyage to India, and in all the rest of your travels,” Laurence said as they shook hands one last time, and left unsaid the hopes that one of those roads would soon bring Tharkay back to him.


	6. things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear

“Tenzing,” Laurence said, and rushed to Tharkay’s side. Tharkay was attempting to pull himself upright, resting back on his elbows, though the effort made him cringe in pain. Laurence had to help him the rest of the way, one hand on his shoulder, the other on the small of his back.

Tharkay’s skin was warm to the touch, and even in the flickering candlelight, Laurence could see the dark bruises on his unusually pale face. His hands were battered and bloody, curled loosely against his chest. His bloodshot eyes regarded Laurence blearily.

“I am seeing things,” Tharkay murmured, more to himself than Laurence. “I must finally be going mad.”

“No, it’s me, Tenzing. Quickly, we must get out of here in case there are more guards about.”

“This is cruel,” Tharkay continued, in a hoarse, quiet voice that broke with each inhale, and there was surprise and disbelief in his expression, something almost like fear. “When I did not even dare to hope—dreamed, yes, but never foolish enough to hope—”

“Tenzing, please believe me,” Laurence said, and touched his forehead against his. He realised belatedly that the reassurance of touch, of solidity, was as much for him as for Tharkay. “I am here.”

The return of his memories threatened to overwhelm Laurence in its torrential rush, but even in the confusion of a decade’s worth of remembrances—the sudden recollection of places he’d never been to, names put to faces of people he’d never met—there was above all the overriding sense of panic and relief.

The remembrance of what he’d recovered; the realisation of what he’d nearly lost. Laurence cupped Tharkay’s face in his hands.

“Will,” Tharkay said softly.

“Can you stand, Tenzing?”

Laurence cast off his coat and threw it around Tharkay’s shoulders; he helped him to his feet, supporting him under his right arm. Holding him as close as he did, Laurence could not help but notice how lean he was, and Tharkay had already closed his eyes tiredly, as though their endeavour so far had already exhausted him entirely. But he shuffled his feet along as Laurence half-carried him through the cave’s meandering paths.

“They’ve held me here,” said Tharkay, “I think it has been a month since they captured me. They tried to make me confess to crimes I did not commit.”

“I know. It is how we found out to search you.”

Tharkay rested his head against Laurence’s chest. “I think—I think I should be less surprised that you have come. You have always proven so contrary to any expectations,” he said, even now managing a ghost of his sardonic smile.

“In this instance, I gladly welcome the charge. But pray, save your strength. We are nearly there,” Laurence said. He thought he could hear the noises of battle growing steadily in volume, roaring dragons and the clash of steel on steel. The smell of lit gunpowder and burning wood grew stronger as they approached the cave entrance.

“I dreamed you would come,” Tharkay murmured, his voice so low as to be nearly unintelligible, as though he were unaware that he was even speaking the words aloud. Laurence thought he must be barely awake, some of his words slipping unconsciously into Mandarin, then a language Laurence did not recognise, to English again. “I dreamed so often you would come.”

“I’m here, Tenzing,” Laurence repeated. “I will not leave you again.”


	7. things you said when you thought I was asleep

He had not meant to say the words aloud. In fact, it was only when Tharkay stirred that Laurence realised he had done so. He did not know why he’d said the words either. He had been distracted, and drawn into idle observation. Perhaps it had been sight of Tharkay’s face, peaceful in sleep, long eyelashes fanned against his cheeks. Perhaps it had been the sight of Tharkay’s hands, the dull white of the bandages.

Temeraire had once informed him that the palace complex of the capital had nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine rooms. Whether the figure was accurate or not, the one they occupied was modestly grand, with painted walls and tall, engraved columns. The latticework over the window cut the lantern light into patterned shadows upon the room, softly dimmed by the rice-paper screens.

Tharkay’s bed was next to the window, and Laurence was sitting at his bedside, as had been their habit since their return to Peking. Company would encourage Tharkay’s convalescence, Laurence explained, and Tharkay did not protest it as much as if he had truly minded. So Laurence would take his dinner with him, or Tharkay would give him lessons in Chinese grammar, or any other such small thing to while away the evenings ‘till their departure.

Laurence had been reviewing the set of maps of the west Siberian plains as Tharkay read a book, when Laurence realised it was far too quiet; he looked over to the bed and seen Tharkay’s eyes were closed.

He had not meant to say the words aloud, but the high ceilings amplified every sound with a hollow echo, so that though the words were barely above a whisper, they were audible enough.

“One would think I were on my deathbed, to warrant such a confession,” said Tharkay, and slowly opened his eyes. He sat up and regarded Laurence with a small smile.

Laurence blushed, but made no attempt to retract the words. Instead, he said, “I can only—I do not know what I would’ve done, if I had lost you.”

“But you did not.”

Laurence swallowed around the lump in his throat. “It is not a groundless fear.”

“On the contrary, nothing is more unlikely,” said Tharkay, calm and level, even as his bandaged hands grasped Laurence’s own. “I do not think it possible, that I can belong to you anymore than I already do.”


	8. things you said with no space between us

On the more quiet nights of the journey to Moscow, Laurence would allow himself to forget they were off to war. The moon would set on the desert horizon late in the evenings, leaving the sky dark against a handful of stars. Cool summer winds swept the sand and rattled the canvas of the tent. Temeraire slept contentedly in his pavilion, resting from a hard day’s flight.

On the more quiet nights of their journey, Tharkay would sometimes steal away into his tent and lie beside him, and together they would both take some small refuge from the world.

Laurence’s eyes roamed over Tharkay’s body, taking note of all its various scars: there were the newer ones on his hands and back, hidden under bandage and gauze, only mostly healed, but there were others all over, faded with age. The man’s history etched on his skin, and Laurence had been given permission to read it.

His hand hovered briefly above the large, ugly burn on the back of his right leg, and Laurence recalled steam and gunpowder and the click of marble tiles, a wretched pursuit through the sultan’s palace. After a moment, he moved on, his fingertips drifting to a scar entirely unfamiliar, a long, thin white line running down his chest to the right side of his ribs.

“Where did you get this?” Laurence asked, running his fingertips over the scar. If he were to hazard a guess, he would imagine it as the slash of a sword, or perhaps an especially long knife, evaded just a hair’s breadth, a shallow wound that nonetheless left its mark. Tharkay looked down, and answered, “An old injury, souvenir of my first crossing across the Taklamakan. The caravan I traveled with was ambushed by a roving band of thieves, not unlike the ones we’d encountered on our own passage.”

“And this one?” Laurence asked, drawing closer, this time with his hand on Tharkay’s left shoulder, over a scar shaped like a crescent moon.

“A minor disagreement with a merchant in Khotan that...escalated.”

Laurence gave a small huff of laughter. Then, he paused.

“And this?” Laurence finally asked, the pad of his thumb tracing a thin white scar on the side of Tharkay’s jaw, nearly invisible if not for the growth of stubble around it marking it plainly.

Tharkay gave a small half-smile, and brought up a hand to hold Laurence’s in place. “That one you should know—from Shoeburyness, on Arkady, from a French sabre.”

Laurence lowered his eyes for a moment, and slowly, slowly, leaned forward to press his lips against the small scar on Tharkay’s jaw, right near the corner of his mouth; and then Tharkay turned his head just slightly, turning the gesture into a full-bodied kiss, catching Laurence’s mouth in his, pulling him close with a hand on the back of his neck, fingers tangled in his hair.


End file.
